rifle in the hollow of his arm and his person fairly bristling
with pistols and cutlasses. Whenever one of the flotilla of
canoes hove to at a respectful distance, showed signs of crossing
an imaginary deadline drawn by McGuffey, he would point his rifle
at them and swear horribly. He scowled at Tabu-Tabu when that
individual finally emerged from the conference with Mr. Gibney
and Scraggs and went over the side to his waiting canoe.

"Well, what's in the wind this time?" inquired McGuffey.

"We're invited to a big feed with the king of Kandavu," replied
Captain Scraggs, as happy as a boy. "Hop into a clean suit of
ducks, Mac, and come along. Gib's goin' to broach a little keg of
liquor and we'll make a night of it."

"Good lord," groaned McGuffey, "does the man think I'm low enough
to _eat_ with niggers?"

"Leave him to his own devices," said Mr. Gibney indulgently.
"Mac's just as Irish as if he'd been born in Dublin instead of
his old man. Nobody yet overcome the prejudice of an Irishman so
we'll do the honours ourself, Scraggsy, old skittles, and leave
Mac in charge of the ship."

"Mind you're both back at a seasonable hour," warned McGuffey.
"If you ain't, I'll suspect mischief and--say! Gib! Well, what's
the use talkin' to a man with an imagination? Only if I have to
go ashore after you two, those islanders'll date time from my
visit, and don't you forget it."